


angel, baby

by GreenyLove



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Nonbinary Sugawara Koushi, Pet Names, Public Display of Affection, Romantic Gestures, They/Them Pronouns For Sugawara Koushi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenyLove/pseuds/GreenyLove
Summary: Oikawa is late. Sugawara forgives. There’s a dog involved.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31
Collections: OiSuga Valentines Exchange 2021





	angel, baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanreohs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanreohs/gifts).



> dear reo, 
> 
> i hope you like your gift! <3 happy oisuga!

Oikawa Tooru is late.

For once, he didn’t change his outfit seven times. Didn’t spend twenty extra minutes perfecting the polished swoop of his bangs. Didn’t get sidetracked scrolling through the endless abyss of social media. 

For once, it isn’t his fault at all. 

“Excuse me?” He flutters his hand in the air, flagging down a flight attendant and flashing him a wide smile. If he makes a show of fiddling with his expensive wristwatch, well. “When will we be disembarking? Sometime soon, I hope?” 

The attendant gives him a polite smile. “We apologize for the inconvenience. There was a miscommunication with the control tower that prevents us from taxing completely into the terminal. It should be resolved shortly.” 

A canned response. Oikawa is a seasoned traveller. He knows _shortly_ could mean ten minutes or forty-five minutes. 

“Fingers crossed!” He tries to be chipper but he feels frustration seeping through the cracks in his charm. 

Thankfully, the flight attendant moves on with a pinched, pitying look. A delayed flight, an air traffic miscommunication on Valentine’s Day — the horror! Oikawa watches him scurry off with a pout. Perhaps the attendant imagines what kind of trouble Oikawa must be in, what sort of lonely put-out partner waits forlornly by the window. 

Reality is better, and also worse. 

Better, because Sugawara Koushi has never been one for hand-wringing. Possessed with emotional maturity and a depth of compassion accessible only to literal angels, Sugawara will see Oikawa’s texts detailing the frankly comedic escalation of disasters and delays, cancel their dinner reservations, and fall asleep on the couch with _How I Met Your Mother_ on low volume in the background. When Oikawa shuffles home, Sugawara will blink open those sleepy copper eyes. They’ll grin winsomely, like it doesn’t matter that Oikawa missed Valentine’s Day for the first time in their lengthy six-year courtship. And it truly doesn’t matter, to Sugawara. 

But it does, to Oikawa. Better, and also worse. 

When he is at last allowed back on solid ground, he checks his watch again. Foolishly, he hopes time will tick backwards. It doesn’t, so he walks faster down the jetway. 

He was supposed to land in Haneda around 2:45 PM. Plenty of time to get home, to his cute apartment. Kiss his cute joyfriend. Pamper himself, change into something nice. If he is lucky, his cute joyfriend will assist with this. Take his cute joyfriend out to dinner. Woo them all over again. 

Oikawa claims his luggage, and watches the time on his watch tick to 11:26 PM. By the time he gets home, it will be after midnight. February 15th. 

“Stupid weather. Stupid jet fuel.” He fidgets with his coat, smoothes out the wrinkles as best he can. He feels crusty in the way only long stretches of travel can accomplish. 

Maybe, if he hurries, he can hide all the clocks before Sugawara wakes up. Do they own many clocks? Suddenly possessed with the vivid certainty that Sugawara has gone on a clock-buying spree in his absence, Oikawa hurries down the concourse. He taps his foot the entire way down the escalator, checking train times on his phone. He spies the flash of bright red in his peripheral just in time to step wide and avoid crushing the — flower? 

Rose. A single red rose. 

He plucks it off the ground. Plump velvet petals unfurl in a perfect spiral. Slightly dehydrated, but undoubtedly dropped today. He wanders forward. Foot traffic is light for this time at night on a holiday. He doesn’t notice anyone holding a bouquet. Or anyone hunting for a missing flower. He’s beginning to feel like an idiot when his gaze snags on something on the ground.

Thirty feet away, resting innocently on the ground: a second rose.

There are several conclusions he could draw if Oikawa was a hopeful, romantic sort of person. Deep down, he is not a believer in anything he cannot touch with his own hands. Volleyball, he believes in. His muscles, the strengths and weaknesses his eyes perceive. 

He could believe — but he doesn’t. But he does? The resulting white noise makes his heart beat too quickly. 

There’s a third rose. Then a fourth, around the corner. A fifth, where the walkway slopes downward. By the time Oikawa picks up the tenth from where it lays on the back of a bench, he’s shaking. He needs to sit down. He also needs to drop his luggage, shed his layers, and run very quickly — 

“I thought you’d be taller.” 

Oikawa startles. A teenaged cafe worker stands nearby, twirling a cleaning rag around in her hands. 

“Why,” he begins, tries his best to speak patiently, “would you think I’d be taller?” 

She shrugs, pops her gum. “They were kinda short, so I figured their partner must be tall.” 

“That’s very heteronormative of you,” he says with a prim nod. 

Her eye roll could put Hanamaki to shame. She points to the growing collection of roses in his arm. “They left that rose like, an hour ago. You should probably hurry.” 

It takes...an amount of self-restraint to bite back the snappish remarks boiling in his throat. _It is not polite to yell at children,_ he mentally recites. He gives her a tight smile, adjusts his grip on the luggage handle, and rolls onward. 

The eleventh rose is at the top of the final staircase before the wide, quiet lobby. 

Quiet, except for a familiar voice. 

“Hush, oh, what a good girl! You’re holding up so well. It’s almost time.” 

To the right of the exit, Sugawara crouches beside a bench. At least eight huge balloons fight for airspace around them — crinkly silver hearts, a distressingly lifelike Cupid, a pink and red jellyfish with crepe streamer tentacles. Rose petals carpet the floor in a broad half-circle. 

Oikawa can’t feel his legs. Concerningly, his legs still move. He doesn’t register tripping down the stairs until he nearly falls over, stumbling to correct his balance. His suitcase clatters loudly to the ground. 

Sugawara looks at him. Their smile — soft, happy, _knowing_ — makes Oikawa’s hands tingle. Like the perfect jump serve. Like the perfect set. 

“Kou-chan,” he croaks, stepping closer. “What is all this?” 

“Stop!” The broken, confused look on Oikawa’s face makes Sugawara giggle, a little helpless. “I mean, just wait there for a second? Please?” 

At that moment, Oikawa notices the odd, boxy bag on the bench. He notices because the bag barks. 

“Kou-chan…” 

Sugawara’s smile goes impish. “This is the best part.” 

Reaching into the bag that Oikawa now realizes is a pet carrier, Sugawara lifts out a small, fluffy, wiggly ball of white fur. A Pomeranian, bangs tied back in a delicate aqua bow. Sugawara cooes at the squirmy creature, sets it on the floor. 

“Just like we practiced,” they murmur before handing the dog a rose. The twelfth rose. 

“Koushi?” Oikawa sniffles. He is not going to cry in the middle of an airport. “Angel?” 

Sugawara points to Oikawa and snaps their fingers twice. The little dog takes off running, claws clicking as it skitters across the tile. Oikawa falls to his knees without thinking, dumps the roses on the floor because he needs both arms to cradle this angelic little fuzzball. The dog agrees, leaping into his lap and dropping the rose immediately in favor of licking his chin. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Oikawa gasps, sinking his fingers into its fur. “This is the softest dog in the universe! Kou-chan! Why? Where?” His brain function is slow to return. _“When?_ I was only gone for two weeks!” 

Sugawara sits on the floor, knee to knee. Before answering anything, they slide cool hands up Oikawa’s neck. Cradle his jaw, pull him gently forward into the most gentle press of lips. Sugawara tastes like cherry chapstick and shortbread cookies. The drone of the loudspeaker, the rattle of luggage, the curious whispers — it all falls away. Oikawa kisses them back, more desperate than he usually shows but dammit, there are a dozen roses and balloons and a dog. He’s rattled. 

“I’m sorry your flight was delayed,” Sugawara says when they peel apart. They rub a soft thumb across Oikawa’s cheek. “I know you hate airports.” 

Oikawa sniffles, adjusts the dog in his arms. He thinks it must be female. She blinks her small black eyes, tiny tongue poking out of her delicate mouth. “Airports are stupid.” 

“I was going to set this up at home. Leave the roses on the stairs.” Sugawara pets through his hair, pushes his bangs aside. They arch an elegant silver eyebrow. “But I knew you would freak out about missing Valentine’s Day. You were, weren’t you?” 

“Unconfirmed,” Oikawa mumbles. 

Cherry-sweet lips find his again. They kiss longer this time, long enough that their canine audience yips and wiggles. 

“Wait, wait.” Oikawa draws back. “Explain the dog. Is this our dog? Did you _adopt an entire dog?”_

“Well, I can’t adopt part of a dog.” 

_“Kou-chan.”_

Sugawara clears their throat. “We’ve talked about it for ages. I thought it would be a nice surprise. You have months before your next trip! We can acclimate together. And now I can have some company, when you’re away.” 

“Bold of you to assume I won’t take her with me.” He nuzzles his cheek against her fluffy, perfect head. “She’s small enough to travel. Obviously, I will be her favorite father.” 

Sugawara’s eyes flash. “We all know I’m the favorite. Right, Baby?” 

Oikawa sighs. The dog barks. 

Wait. 

He narrows his eyes. “Kou-chan. What did you name our fur child?” 

Sugawara blinks rapidly. “Well,” they begin, sugary innocent, “I was going to wait for you, so we could name her together. But I missed you so much, I started talking to her like I was talking to you.” 

He’s so scandalized, he can barely speak. “Her name can’t be Baby!” 

The dog barks. 

“But Tooru, she already knows her name. It would be confusing.” 

“I don’t care!” Hooking his hands around her middle, he lifts the puppy up to eye level, giving her his most imperious staredown. “I’m terribly sorry, but there can only be one _baby_ , and it’s not you.” She licks his nose. “No! I’m the baby!” 

Sugawara giggles — tries to catch it behind their hand, but it spills out until their hunched over, laughing so hard their shoulders shake. It isn’t cute because Oikawa is terribly angry with them. He’s still angry when they smile at him, cheeks rosy red, and reach forward to lovingly pet their fingers through his hair. 

“I love you, Tooru.” 

“You’re horrible,” Oikawa mumbles. “You’re enjoying this.” 

“Yes,” Sugawara sighs. 

Baby yips, kicks her legs and growls. Oikawa sets her down but keeps a hand around her collar. She devotes herself to nosing through the roses, sneezing sporadically. Oikawa exhales, rubs a hand across his tired eyes. He’s exhausted but there’s a lightness in his chest. 

He checks his watch. 11:58 PM. 

Sugawara covers the watchface with their hand, guiding his arm back to his lap. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Oikawa repeats, blushing. Baby worms her way between them, clammors into both their laps at once. Sugawara laughs, angelic. 

People are starting to stare. Oikawa feels faintly embarrassed and thoroughly wooed, cranky but overwhelmingly grateful — such a conflicting stir of emotions, too many for how little sleep he’s had. He worries about the balloons, about how their life is going to change with Baby. But one look at Sugawara, singing a k-pop song softly to Baby as they settle her into her carrier — well. 

If he smiles like a fool in love, it isn’t his fault at all.


End file.
